This week we see if I can't break out of this weight loss logjam I'm stuck inside. It's taken me six months to lose ten pounds, now I'm losing another ten over the next two and then I'm hanging tight. There, I've said it, the thing more deadly than a kitty cat entry, guaranteed to lose readers like, well, weight in that fantasy universe where weight is like your computer screen, you right click, make an adjustment and "bingo" it's gone.
I haven't been gaining weight, mind you, no embarrassing lapses, the pants are shrinking ever smaller, but those two velvet jackets, those two velvet jackets that have been hanging zipped inside plastic for twenty years now in my closet that I say I will never wear again but for one last time, here, in the apartment, when they fit. Not button with a small tug across the middle as they do now, you understand, but fit, plenty of room for me inside, which will happen in another five, but I'm losing ten to make certain. End of weight loss entry. But I've made the commitment. It's the 8th of July. Another entry (you may wish to skip it) in September, ten pounds from now, ten thousand pounds lighter (or heavier) in spirit, hard to predict. (Yes, yes. Those of you who have been around for a while know I lie. To you, to myself, to a little kitty cat, who is no longer with us.)
Meanwhile, back at the job, it went OK today. Up later than usual, breakfast across from the office (a banana with orange juice, tomato juice and coffee), read the paper, read the email, attend two meetings, clean up some of the backlog. Leave at four thirty because I had lunch at my desk, sitting here now saying do eight hours again tomorrow and tomorrow again and every eight hour tomorrow to come. Which is impossible, but nice to think.
I shot a bunch of pictures of the lady below, some because she was topless, some because she's Asian (and I'm somewhat partial - just somewhat, mind you - to Asian), some because she's attractive, but almost none, it seems, because she was unaware of the lens. The photograph at the top is the better photograph because the lady at the top was close to unaware at that moment and the lady to the left was surrounded by cameras and attention. Hard not to be, no blame to the lady, she's out there having some heavy lifting fun freaking the straights, me among them, but I'd rather have gotten her in a more reflective mood. (You are complaining because you couldn't catch a naked woman in leather sitting on a motorcycle in the middle of a crowd snapping a riding crop in a more fucking reflective mood? Have you anything even approaching a clue? Mr. Photographer?)
Lots of topless women at the parade, by the way. I hope that says something for the future, another indicator similar to the length of womens' dresses seen on the sidewalk indicator that predicts the market so well. The higher the hem, the higher the Dow. This being the Nasdac nipple predictor, perhaps, more nipples meaning a better market. So I'm in favor of nipples. Who might have guessed?